Cradle to Grave (36 page)

Too unnerved to manufacture a plausible lie, Rees said, “I set it up in the log meetinghouse and told everyone I was praying for God's guidance because I had discovered who the killer was.”

She stared at him, the color leeching from her cheeks. “You set yourself up as bait?” Her voice rose to a shriek. Both hands flew up to cover her mouth. “Oh, dear God.”

Jerusha appeared at the door, drawn by Lydia's scream. “What's the matter?”

Lydia threw Rees a glance in which both fury and terror were mingled, and he knew he would hear about this again. Then she turned to Jerusha and said with an artificial smile, “Why, nothing. The scarecrow was damaged.” Urging the girl ahead of her into the cabin, Lydia directed another furious glare at Rees and disappeared inside. He quickly followed them.

Sleep did not come easily that night. Rees told himself he'd never really been in danger; he could have shot Mr. Griffin before he'd reloaded the blunderbuss. But he couldn't really believe it, and shudders regularly shivered through him. And Lydia would provide no comfort; she was so angry she refused to speak to him and had gone to sleep with her back set solidly against him.

As Rees stared at the patterns cast by the fire on the cabin ceiling he wondered how he could have been so wrong. Maggie's death made sense only if Reverend Vermette had murdered her. But he hadn't. Why would Mr. Griffin kill Maggie? Was he Judah's father? Or perhaps the father of Maggie's unborn child? But no, both Maartje and Mary Pettit had identified Vermette as Maggie's lover. Unless they were both lying? Rees turned over, too irritated with himself to relax. He reminded himself the investigation was over. The killer, Mr. Griffin, had been identified. But
why
had he done it? Silas Tucker had thought Vermette was the killer as well; that's why he'd hidden the pocket Bible in the cottage. But if the inscription was for Maggie, from Reverend Vermette, then Mr. Griffin had no reason to kill her. Rees flopped over again. It made no sense. Unless the M in the Bible's inscription referred to Maartje, and Rees couldn't believe she and Vermette were lovers, not when she'd clearly expressed her dislike for him and his church the first time he'd met her.

Rees ground his teeth in frustration. He was missing something important. He didn't understand why Caleb Griffin had murdered both Maggie Whitney and Silas Tucker.

One of the children turned over in the other room with a muffled cry, startling Rees into alertness. After a moment, he rose to his feet and, wrapping a quilt around himself, went into the bedroom to check on the children. They were tumbled together like puppies, Joseph snuggled up in Jerusha's arms. Rees stared down at them for a long time, wondering what would have become of them without Mouse. They were so vulnerable. He understood now how desperate Maggie had been to keep them safe. People would do anything to protect those they loved. What had Maggie done as her last reckless action? Whatever it was, it had threatened Caleb Griffin and gotten her killed.

What was Mr. Griffin hiding? Rees had to understand.

He returned to the pallet and lay down. Almost everyone in Dover Springs had lied to him, of that he was certain. He needed to clear away all the lies people in Dover Springs had told him and lay bare the truth. Tomorrow he would start by questioning Caleb Griffin.

*   *   *

Constable Cooper arrived first thing Sunday morning. He held his right arm awkwardly and Lydia immediately asked after the injury. “I'm fine,” he said, barely acknowledging her. He looked at Rees. “Bad news.”

“Griffin escaped,” Rees said. He'd wondered if that would happen; for all he knew Griffin and Cooper were cousins. These incestuous small towns!

“He's dead.”

“He's … what!” Rees gaped at the constable. “Dead? How?” Now Rees might never learn what Griffin knew.

“I had him locked up in my shop, until I had a chance to take him to the jail in Schoharie on Monday. Somebody broke the window and shot him dead.” He paused and then added in an aggrieved tone, “So, was he Maggie's killer? Or not?” Rees did not reply. Instead, thinking furiously, he stared over Cooper's head. If Griffin was Maggie's killer, then who had shot him? It had to be someone who shared his secret, and Rees could think of only two people who were that close to Caleb Griffin.

“Rees? Do you hear me, Rees?”

“What?”

“So, is the baby”—his eyes swiveled to Judah—“Griffin's child?”

“I don't know.” Rees didn't want to admit that with Griffin's appearance, all his assumptions had been exploded. What was he missing? “I don't think so, but I need to think.”

“We all want to know,” Lydia said, turning to her husband with a frown of exasperation.

“It's best if I explain once, to everyone all at once,” Rees said. “In the meetinghouse.”

“Today is Sunday so the meetinghouse is in use. But I'm sure Reverend Vermette will not deny you tomorrow, especially if your solution absolves him,” Cooper said in a dry tone.

“Tomorrow morning then? And I need you to perform a service, if you will. Please call on Mrs. Griffin.”

“I doubt she'll attend,” Cooper said. “She's in mourning, remember.”

Darting an anxious look at Lydia, Rees drew Cooper to the side and whispered into his ear.

Cooper nodded and said, “I'll spread the word at the Ram's Head.” He paused and then added, “I'll also try to persuade some of the selectmen to attend.”

“Until tomorrow then,” Rees said. He needed to spend this day in serious thought.

*   *   *

First thing Monday morning, Rees pocketed the small Bible stained with Maggie's blood and put his copies of Olive Tucker's will into the large family Bible. Nerves kept him from eating his breakfast, and his first sips of coffee made his stomach roil. Although certain his resolution of all three deaths was now correct, he knew it was critical he persuade everyone else. There still would be some who would refuse to believe the truth, even though Griffin had been caught trying to kill Rees.

Once the children had finished their breakfasts and Lydia had repeated her instructions to Jerusha for the third time, Rees declared himself ready to leave. Lydia scarcely had time to grab her cloak before he took her arm and propelled her through the door. He had harnessed Ares immediately after breakfast so the horse had, by now, been waiting for almost an hour.

“I don't think we need to hurry quite so much,” Lydia said. “Everyone will wait for you. They must.”

Rees did not reply. He remained silent all the way to the log church, reviewing the deductions that had led to his final conclusion. There were so many points he wanted to remember.

The meetinghouse was more crowded than he expected. Rees looked around, surprised to see how many had come. Constable Cooper, accompanied by his wife, waited in the front pew. Reverend Vermette and Miss Pike sat behind the constable in the second row. They seemed to have eyes for no one else, staring at one another and sighing like actors in a play. Rees, who thought the emotion on display patently false and inconsiderate of everyone else here, now understood Mr. Cooper's many grimaces and frowns.

Mr. Gray sat across the aisle, accompanied by Maartje and her cousin. The sleeping baby lay in a nest of blankets on the wooden bench beside Maartje, and she peered into the baby's face every few minutes as though assuring herself of Jacob's continued health.

As Lydia found a seat and Rees walked to the front, Mr. Randall entered, his cane beating a counterpoint to his soft limping footsteps. Mr. and Mrs. Baker and their son followed close behind. They took seats behind Mr. Gray and Maartje Griffin. Then Elder Herman, Eldress Agatha, and Mouse appeared at the door. They paused, looking around in trepidation, before finding seats at the back. Elder Herman sat on the opposite side of the aisle from the two Shaker women, and right in front of the four selectmen. These were the men Rees must persuade. Of the four, three sat with crossed arms and hostile postures. Mr. Shaw, Cooper's father-in-law, looked particularly angry.

Rees cleared his throat.

“So, how did you know it was Griffin?” Cooper called out.

“It's a mistake,” Mr. Gray bawled, his voice echoing loudly around the hall.

Rees ignored them. “Let's talk about Maggie Whitney for a moment,” he said. He waited for the sounds—the scrape of a shoe, a hastily muffled cough—to die down. “I'm sure most of you feel you knew her. Knew her well; that the only secrets she kept were the names of her children's fathers. I began my investigation there.”

“Mr. Rees,” Cooper said warningly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Dover Springs is done with secrets,” Rees said, so loudly his voice echoed in his own ears. Cooper lowered his eyes as his assembled neighbors turned to stare at him. “Few will be surprised to hear Jerusha Whitney is your child. But you were seeing Genevieve Shaw at the same time. And Maggie had no father, especially not a selectman, to compel you into marriage.” Rees rested his eyes upon Cooper's frowning father-in-law. “Fortunately, Roger Whitney wanted to marry her. So she wed him and moved away. Isn't that true?” Rees paused.

No one spoke, although Cooper squirmed and finally nodded. His wife, after one angry glare, lifted her chin and looked straight ahead. The selectmen eyed the constable speculatively, whispering together.

“Mr. Whitney was a sailor, however,” Rees continued, “and Maggie found herself a young widow with a baby. So she went to work as a wet nurse. While in Boston, she became pregnant with Simon and returned home. She brought one hundred silver dollars with her.”

“Why didn't she use that for her taxes then, huh?” Mr. Baker blurted. “Every year she struggled to pay them.”

“She did that, once, and was accused of theft.” Rees paused again. The expressions upon the faces of the selectmen did not change, and Maartje shook her head, refusing to believe it.

“She was a thief,” Maartje muttered, just loudly enough to be heard.

“Was she? Most of that money is intact, waiting for Simon to reach his majority. I know it must have been difficult to save. When my wife and I first met her children, there was not a scrap of food in the house.” Rees brought his judgmental gaze back to Cooper. “With Maggie's return to town, she'd reconnected with Mr. Cooper here, who was living apart from his wife.”

“Rees, be quiet now,” Cooper shouted.

Rees regarded him in silence for several seconds before speaking again. “By your own admission, you accused Maggie of believing you were a couple. Nancy is the result.”

Genevieve's mouth began to tremble. Reverend Vermette turned a sneer upon the constable.

“By then,” Rees continued, “Olive Tucker was quite ill, and the recipient of many pastoral visits from Reverend Vermette. And when Mr. Cooper returned to his wife, Maggie formed an attachment to the pastor. He was single and unconnected to any woman. I believe she expected marriage.” Now Rees turned his eyes upon the pastor.

“I don't deny that I suffered from lust,” Vermette declared in a strong voice. “I confess to that sin.” Cooper looked at the minister in dislike, and Rees felt his face twist with disdain.

“You admit to a connection with Maggie then?” Rees asked.

“I wouldn't call it a connection,” Vermette began, turning to Miss Pike. She did not look at him.

“You met Maggie in Mr. Gray's house.” Rees cut off the Reverend. “Why not use the meetinghouse?”

“When we began—um,” Vermette said, dropping his gaze to his hands. “Well, we did use the meetinghouse. But we were almost caught by those boys.” He flicked a gaze at Mr. and Mrs. Baker. “We needed more privacy.”

“I see. Well, last fall you met another woman, one with status and wealth: Miss Pike. In December you asked for her hand in marriage. When she accepted, you broke it off with Maggie.” Rees paused. Quietly the meetinghouse door opened, and Mary Pettit came inside. She sat upon the rearmost log. Rees felt a knot of worry begin to uncoil inside him. “Did you know, Reverend Vermette, that Maggie was carrying your second child?” Vermette's eyes widened and his mouth flapped open.

“Of course not … not then.” His eyes flashed toward Miss Pike. She was regarding her fiancé in horror.

“I didn't know she was with child. I didn't.” Vermette's voice was shaking.

“So, you didn't kill her to protect your engagement to Miss Pike?”

“No! Of course not. Mr. Griffin killed her.”

“He did not,” Maartje said.

Rees did not look at her. He let the silence lengthen until Vermette shifted uncomfortably in his seat, an expression of sullen shame upon his face. “Are you prepared to swear,” Rees said at last, “here in this meetinghouse, under the eyes of God, that you had no part in the murder of Maggie Whitney?”

“I swear.” Vermette's voice reverberated from the rafters. “I'm sure any man who enjoyed her favors will tell you she invited such attention.”

“No doubt,” Rees said. “A young and pretty girl, what else should she desire but a husband of her own?”

Vermette turned a ferocious glare upon Rees. “Why would
I
marry
her
?” he demanded.

“So, why did Mr. Griffin try to kill you, Mr. Rees?” asked a selectman, his voice laden with scorn. “Are we supposed to believe that Mr. Griffin fathered one of Mrs. Whitney's brats, and you knew it?”

“Did your husband stray with Maggie?” Rees asked Maartje.

“No. No. He wouldn't. He didn't,” she cried. “If that harlot accused him of it, she was lying.” She clutched her hands tightly to her chest.

Rees looked around at all the faces. Most of them, with that human predilection for believing the worst, suspected Griffin was guilty. “I believe you,” he told Maartje. “I doubt your husband had any kind of a romantic interest in Maggie Whitney. But he murdered her nonetheless. And Silas Tucker as well. The question is why. I began to wonder if Maggie's death had anything to do with who fathered which of her children. Until she was desperate to pay her taxes, she asked the fathers for nothing.” Now Rees looked back at the selectmen, not troubling to hide his disgust. “She knew the selectmen were ready to warn her and her children out, and although she had some defenders they were fewer in number than those who wished to expel her. Silas Tucker was just waiting for a mistake, any mistake, that would give him those few acres he thought should be his. And she didn't have the money for her taxes. Hell, she didn't have money for food. Other than Simon's dollars, which were as likely to land her in jail for theft as not, she had nothing.”